


Order in all Things

by Gloomier



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Character Death, Dwarf Courting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Gold Sickness, Hand Jobs, Hobbit Courting, Hobbit Culture, Humor, I told lore and cannon to take a hike, Implied Body Shaming, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pre-Quest for Erebor, Pre-Slash, Rough Sex, Rude Ass Hobbits, Smut, Stubborn Dwarves, Thorin can be melodramatic, implied suicide just in case, pretty sure chapter 7 counts as morning sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 19,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Bagginshield Alphabet drabbles and one-shots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Alone

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing for this fandom and now is as good time as any to break into writing for it with a Bagginshield Alphabet, though this first one got a little dark... More tags as the days go on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A is for alone.
> 
> Without anyone or anything.

It is in the deepest recesses of the dark cold mountain that Bilbo realizes that he is utterly and unfathomably alone. The dark, it whispers and coos bitter comforts in his ear and is an unbearable madness that's slowly whittling him down, slowly but surely. He has taken to wandering the deserted bowels of Erebor, in a poor attempt to avoid the living husks of his former friends while they sift through rolling hills of shiny despair. He cannot bear the far away looks that they've all come to wear, they see past him as though blind only to him, only seeing the vast cursed wealth of the mountain and each other.

He's been alone before, those memories that had once become distant festering wounds during their journey are viciously torn open by fresh abandonment, the anguish threatens to consume him just like those lying whispers do even now. Bilbo briefly wonders if the gold-sickness feels similar to what he is experiencing, sympathy and understanding are a flicker as much darker thoughts press in.

He blames the Arkenstone, blames Thorin and the other Dwarves for succumbing to its ominous serenade.

He wants to blame them. The sweet song wants him to blame them, for they are the reason he is alone again. 

_There is no room in their hearts for you any longer, Hobbit._

Bilbo's heart is an ever warring conflict of love and deep-seated betrayal and he so desperately wishes to run, run as far away from this place as he is able, smash the twice damned stone and flee, forget, move on from all this misery. 

Yet he _can't_. 

While his mind wishes to flee his heart yet yearns to stay. Such a long drawn out journey with Dwarves has made him into a very selfish Hobbit. He may be gold possessed, but Thorin was _his _dwarf and come hell or high water Bilbo would endure. It's with new found resolve that Bilbo finds himself prowling back upwards to the throne room, hoping to find _his_ Dwarf, and make another attempt to sway him from his ailment. __

To his surprise it is Thorin who finds _him_ lurking about in the upper halls.

“Bilbo?” Thorin calls out to him from an adjoining corridor.

It takes all of Bilbo's strength to contain his shock enough to face the unexpected development, but he does and swallows back the lump in his throat. “Thorin! You startled me.” He murmurs.

Thorin hums and says nothing as he steps towards Bilbo, eying him carefully.

It is on instinct that Bilbo backs away from Thorin, a habit that has formed as of late due to recent incidents. To him it seemed as if the mountain was hell bent on torturing him further as his back connects with the wall, the Dwarf still intent on driving him further into it. For a moment Bilbo's words try and escape him and he struggles to recapture them. 

“I-I've been looking for you.” He manages to utter.

“Indeed?”

Bilbo is firmly planted against the wall now, preventing any further tactical retreats while Thorin takes several more steps into the others personal space. They are breathing the same air now, only a step or two would meld them together, and such closeness is maddening for Bilbo as it takes every fiber of his being not to reach out and crush the Dwarf's lips to his. Not brave enough to risk speaking, Bilbo simply nods and it is then that he notices the way Thorin is staring at him, in that carnal way he had so many months ago; his heart beats rebelliously in his chest.

There is a clarity in the way Thorin's gaze rakes over him, and it is a clarity that Bilbo hasn't seen in _days_ , but before he can discern the meaning, chapped lips descend upon his own. The kiss is anything but friendly, a kiss rife with want and need but Bilbo can't help it and he kisses back fervently. 

Large hands are grabbing and pinching at his sickeningly thin waistline, and a hard Dwarven body is pressing him further into unyielding stone. Finding that he is irrevocably trapped, Bilbo slips idle fingers into the messy locks of Thorin's hair, grasping tightly at the roots and tugging gently, eliciting a pleased growl from the lust driven King. 

It takes several more tugs to pull Thorin off his face before he can completely steal his breath, but Thorin refuses to stay unproductive and in lieu of lovely Hobbit lips he busies himself with the exposed pale flesh of Bilbo's throat, leaving angry red marks as he goes. The sensation of being methodically devoured has Bilbo writhing – it brings back memories of gentler and passionate nights. He is hard pressed to refuse such dearly missed feelings, and there is little resistance as Thorin claims his lips again, ravaging them with his teeth and prying them open with his tongue. 

Bilbo is vaguely aware when rough hands yank off his coat and pull at his shirt, jerk it out from his trousers, his braces slipping off his shoulders shortly after. Calloused hands slip beneath his cheaply tailored shirt, they are cold and unrelenting sending shivers down Bilbo's knobby spine. Thorin becomes impatient with the fabric, his incessant need to view all of his Hobbit has got him wrenching open the offending garment; Bilbo silently mourns the loss of his buttons once more as they scatter to the floor. 

A deep rumble of approval quakes through him and Thorin runs his hands over as much of the newly exposed flesh as he can, every now and then jagged finger nails scrape against sensitive nipples and tender patches of skin, tearing moans from Bilbo's kiss abused lips. Further attention on his nipples is punishing; Thorin bites, pulls, and twists at them with fingers and teeth, and it drives Bilbo to incoherent babbling and cursing. The King takes great pleasure in absolutely unhinging his Hobbit. 

There is little else to do in a hallway, and every passing second Thorin finds it more difficult not to rut his hankering need into his body, Bilbo observes. The heat pressing into him begins to unravel the remainder of the tattered civility he still clings to and soon Bilbo is pressing his own yearning into Thorin's thigh now. 

Bilbo's yelp resounds down the empty corridor when Thorin makes to push his shirt off down his shoulders and his skin meets with the frigid and rough time-worn stone. The King's dexterous hands make quick work of the knotted laces of his trousers, pressing his mouth against Bilbo's collar bone as he plunges a hand down between skin and fabric muttering dirty things between bites and licks. The hand is warm its grip is heavenly, his touch has been sorely missed and Bilbo allows Thorin to fondle him at his leisure.

It takes very movement for Bilbo's trousers and underthings to pool around his legs and then for Thorin hook his arms under his knees to lift him upwards, and the time in which it takes the King to undo his own belt and trouser laces is a feat in itself, the Hobbit muses. 

His legs are coaxed to wrap themselves around the King's hips and Bilbo wonders where Thorin has managed to get the little bottle of oil that he's got trapped between his teeth, and finds it utterly ridiculous that he was able to wet his fingers with the phial so easily without upsetting the unstable balance that they both have some how managed. The path that was cut to get to this point has been rushed and reckless but Thorin takes time in preparing Bilbo at least. Two thick fingers penetrate him slowly and deeply, the gentle caress of his innards has him mewling and sighing and it is a wondrous reprieve to the harsh treatment Bilbo was subject to mere minutes before. 

Whatever kindness that Bilbo assumed he was receiving from Thorin's careful preparation was a foolish notion indeed. 

Thorin loosens the grip of his teeth to let the little phial between them tumble to the ground and takes his cock in hand, lining himself up to Bilbo's semi-prepared hole. Bilbo discovers then just how little preparation there really was as Thorin swiftly fills him, and it's the sharp burn that comes after that makes Bilbo grit his teeth and strain to bite back a pained wail. 

There is little time for adjustment before Thorin eases out to ram back into the tight Hobbit heat; the motion has set a brutal pace and Bilbo is torn between moans of pleasure and bleats of pain while grasping desperately at Thorin's clothed shoulders for purchase. With each violent upward thrust Thorin steals his pleasure, no endearments are whispered, no love shared between them and the Dwarf focuses solely on taking what was his and laying his claim. The only true relief for Bilbo is in the form of the harsh prodding against that wonderful bundle of nerves deep inside him every now and then. 

Thorin's thrusts are becoming less rhythmic and more wild and for Bilbo it's as if an eternity passes before the heat of orgasm finally begins to pool and coil in his belly. He both relishes and fears his impending climax, but it's the realization and acceptance of the violent behavior that has him feeling shameful when he eventually reaches between their bodies to take his own need in hand. Thorin acknowledges the action with a pleased grunt – Bilbo assumes – and merely observes him as his Hobbit fists himself to completion. 

When Thorin does finally come, its akin to an explosion and Bilbo feels just how raw and used he's truly become under such lustful abuse. He mimics a wet noodle when Thorin disentangles them and he slides the down the rough wall onto the floor into the pile of his clothing, it takes him a fleeting moment to regain the courage to look back up and to his harsh lover, the Dwarf has already tucked himself back into his trousers and has straightened his clothes.

It's not the urgency and the hastiness of their liaison that has Bilbo spilling tears of heartache but the emotionless void Thorin's eyes have reverted to once more.

It is then that Bilbo learns what being alone really means.


	2. B is for Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B is for Blizzard
> 
> Sometimes they are good for something.

Bilbo's shoulders droop when he gets a chance to take a peek out the nearest window, the first snow of winter is here and it has taken form as a nasty blizzard. Thankfully he returned home just before the first flakes hit the ground, there was already a thick blanket of snow draped over the ground and the fierce winds were keen on pushing it into deep drifts. 

He had always preferred the warmer months, when the Shire is warm and bustling with energy and the emerald hills roll ever on. There is something to be said, however, of the colorful kaleidoscope of autumn and the quiet thoughtfulness of winter and Bilbo could appreciate the spiced cider served for the harvest gathering and enjoy the festivities of Yule but he couldn't enjoy the cold or the snow. 

The heavy knocking at his door brings Bilbo out of his contemplation, his ears twitch at the muffled talking and laughing outside. He doesn't remember inviting anyone over for supper and before he can think more on the subject there is another impatient series of knocks.

“Coming!” Bilbo yells, scurrying out of the sitting room and down the hall before his visitor breaks down his door.

There's a lingering moment when Bilbo has a bout of déjà vu when a gaggle of Dwarves pour into his smial like they had a handful of years prior. They are as boisterous as they were when they first invaded his home, and there is wonderful tightness in his chest when they finally managed to pick themselves up off the floor to greet him. It is an unexpected arrival, one that he hadn't known he even wanted until that point was driven painfully home as Balin, Dwalin and Thorin step over the thresh hold and into the warmth of his dwelling. 

“Bilbo!” Kili shouts as he and Fili rush right over, nearly barreling right into him.

“Sorry to barge in on you –”

“We should have sent a raven, we told uncle to but –”

“We've missed afternoon tea!”

“Boys!” Bilbo all but yells over Fili and Kili as they babble a mile a minute over each other in their excitement to talk to their burglar. Bilbo quickly finds himself in the iron vice of their hug, nearly toppling all three to the ground with force of it.

Thorin is the one who finally saves him, leveling his sister-sons with a mild glare and dropping into his no-nonsense-uncle voice, “Fili, Kili allow Bilbo to breathe or our journey will have been all for not.”

The brothers peel themselves off Bilbo, begrudgingly so, and the rest of the company descend upon him saying their piece and patting him on his back and shoulders and mussing his curls affectionately. Balin gently squeezes his arm with murmured 'good evening laddie', and Dwalin grunts and inclines his head towards Bilbo in a friendly manner. Thorin merely stares back at the Hobbit, his lips twitching at the corners as he does his best to keep himself in check. 

“I wasn't expecting you!”

“It was meant to be a surprise, apologies for barging in on you like this, _again_.” Balin offers diplomatically

“You're all just in time for supper, though I wasn't planning to cook for so many!” Bilbo grimaces, mentally taking stock of the sorts of things he can prepare on such short notice for his voracious company. 

“Ah don't go worryin' about us Bilbo,” Bofur kindly refuses. “We ate a bit on our way here.”

“Don't be ridiculous! You are my guests, and my father would roll in his grave if I were anything less than the perfect host.” Bilbo huffs.

There are varying degrees of excitement and shuffling when Bilbo turns to make his exit, but before he forgets he pokes his head out of hallway he had just turned into. “Leave your weapons and shoes here, if you please!”

*

The evening was finally winding down – the reunion of the company was mirthful and pleasant, and with everyone settled in, Bilbo finds himself looking out a window into the snowy abyss beyond once more. He's never liked the snow, the winter that had taken both his parents and many other hobbits has tainted whatever elation he once had for the season. The wind is still howling and beating against his smial, throwing big snow flakes against the window and this is how Thorin finds him after he's finished bathing.

His Dwarves were terrible at sneaking about, with the exception of Nori, and thus Bilbo wasn't surprised when he heard the tell tale slap of bare feet padding against the polished wood paneling of the floor.

“You ridiculous Dwarves traveled through the storm, didn't you.” Bilbo states wryly as Thorin comes to stand next to him, he too staring out the window, opting to lift his shoulder dismissively instead of answering. 

Bilbo huffs with exasperatedly, they truly were ridiculous. “And how long will you be staying then?”

“The winter, if you'll have us.”

“The whole winter?!” Bilbo is surprised then, “What about the mountain? You're the King, you can't just go gallivanting around Middle-Earth as you please!”

Thorin laughs and the rich sound permeates Bilbo's soul. “Dis rules in my stead so that I– we may visit a dear friend.”

Bilbo mutters to himself, he is secretly grateful at this turn of events and fails to notice the pleased side-long glance that Thorin shoots him.

They fall into a comfortable silence as they watch snow flakes flit around outside. Bilbo knows why Thorin has made the long trek to visit him, even with extra company, but he wants to hear Thorin say it out loud so that it may turn his waking dreams into reality. “Why did you come, why now?”

“Fili and Kili wouldn't stop pestering me.” Thorin deadpans.

It was meant as a joke and Bilbo deflates at the answer anyway, but Thorin notices, and he presses himself into Bilbo for reassurance before he amends his comment. “I missed you.”

The smile that blooms on Bilbo's face steals the breath from Thorin's lungs; how he's longed to see such an expression upon his Hobbit's face once more! A soft hand slips into his and it nearly has him giddy as a dwarfling when it squeezes his own gently.

“You may stay as long as you like.” Bilbo offers, quietly praying to any who would listen to allow the blizzard to persist on through tomorrow.

He knows even without offering that Thorin would stay anyway, and perhaps now with such good company Bilbo doesn't quite hate winter and the snow so much as he used to. 

The blizzard does persist and cuddling ensues.


	3. C is for Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C is for compass, because Thorin is easily lost.

Ever since leaving the Shire for good to live in the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo still has a difficult time getting the company to understand all the hobbit culture that he's been trying to impart upon them. Explaining to a bunch of dwarves that on a hobbit's birthday, the guests are the ones who receive the gifts is still a rather exasperating experience.

It is on one such day – Bilbo's sixtieth – that he wants to violently shake the company of dwarves he's come to adopt as family.

“But Bilbo! It's _your_ birthday, we can't accept these!” 

“You can and you will!” Bilbo grumbles indignantly.

Bilbo is dangerously close to getting a migraine and half tempted to fetch his wooden spoon to unleash righteous justice upon these ill-mannered dwarves. Bombur it seems, is the only dwarf ecstatic enough to thank Bilbo for his gift – a book of his mother's favorite recipes. _At least someone appreciates the cultural difference!_

Thorin is the only one who has yet to receive his, Bilbo thinks miserably; the King was held back for some silly problem in one of the mines. The hour is quite late by the time the rest of the company shuffle out of the apartment, assuring Bilbo that Thorin hadn't meant to miss his merry gathering. 

Bilbo slipped a hand into his pocket to pull out the small plain box that held Thorin's gift, giving it a wistful stare before placing it on his desk. At some point between pulling out the gift and placing it on the desk he'd fallen into his thoughts, a common occurrence where a certain King is involved, and fails to notice the opening and shutting of his door.

“Apologies for my lateness,” Thorin says gruffly, pulling at his stuffy robes.

Bilbo is genuinely surprised by the entrance, but the presence is soothing and the tight coil in his gut unwinds, relieved that Thorin is back before he's fast asleep at least. The box is in his hand again and he parades across the room and up to the King with his hobbitish determination.

The box is unceremoniously shoved into his chest, and it is on reflex that Thorin catches it when Bilbo's hands drop away. He stares at it dumbly for a moment before rolling it between his palms and fingers delicately, “What's this for?”

“Would you just open the blasted thing!” Bilbo snaps impatiently.

Thorin shoots him an inquisitive glance before carefully prying away one half of the little box. Upon a bed of velvet cloth there lay a circular object carved from wood and stained a dark hue, its glass is spotless and reflects the light of the wall sconces. The face is decorated neatly with black printed cardinal directions and splaying green ink vines, its needle sways a little when Thorin moves just a bit. “A compass?”

“So that when you find yourself lost... don't give me that look! –” Bilbo scolds the King before he repeats himself, “So that when you find yourself lost, you may find your way back to me.”

Thorin has never been good with finding his way around above ground. Dwarves were made to live under mountains and earth, not above them, and it has been an easy topic for teasing ever since he'd gotten lost in the Shire. Bilbo's words are heavy with meaning and it makes his insides twist with emotion, It really is a thoughtful gift, Thorin thinks as he puts the lid back on and shoves it in his pocket. 

While he's still not quite sure what to make of all this quirky hobbit culture, Thorin is quite certain that he hasn't received the one gift he was hoping to get from Bilbo.

“I still don't know how you get lost returning from Dale...” Bilbo murmur to himself, not at all paying the King any mind. 

“Perhaps you can escort me to the royal bedchamber then, for I fear that I may lose my way.” Thorin rumbles deliberately, a lascivious smile pulling at the corners of his lips when he moves to pull Bilbo into his embrace.

While the compass might rescue him from becoming lost in his travels, Thorin didn't much mind getting lost in all of Bilbo.


	4. D is for Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D is for Dare.
> 
> Hobbits are respectable but also mischievous, especially when dares are involved.

The sun has dipped below the horizon by the time Thorin reaches Bree, and he wants nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a meal and an ale or two. His journey has been an arduous one and he's only at the half way point on his return trip, he's exhausted and misses his family, his people, and his home.

The muddied streets of the town are nearly empty, only a few sparse travelers and shady residents lingering about. They all seem to be piled into the tavern, Thorin notices as he pushes open the creaky door and crosses the threshold; his senses are invaded by boisterous patrons, the comfortable warmth of a roaring hearth, and the smell of edible food. The unusual crowd makes it difficult to navigate, he misses the peace and quiet the Prancing Pony often has when he passes through. Eventually he manages to snag a table in a far back corner away from the bulk of the tavern goers.

As busy as the tavern is, the help is attentive enough to notice new guests – which he's grateful for as he signals a waitress – and he doesn't have long to wait before a plate of food and a large pint of ale were set in front of him and the food even looked edible: the bread wasn't too hard, the meat a little over cooked, and the cheese still held its color. Such big crowds make Thorin feel a little claustrophobic and a mite paranoid and it has him stealing glances around his little bubble of make-shift privacy while he nibbles at his dinner and drinks his ale. 

There's a rather lively group of hobbits sitting on the tall stools at the bar and in between his quick peeks around the room he catches a couple of them giggling and pointing his way, it's beginning to irritate him. Hobbits have always been quite kind to dwarves in comparison to how the other races looked down upon them, but there were always those few gentlefolk who remained set in their suspicious and sometimes mocking ways. He chose to ignore their merry gathering and whatever it was they found so amusing about his dwarvishness. 

As he's finishing off the last of his ale, one of the aforementioned hobbits slips off his bar stool and meanders back towards his corner. He silently begs Mahal to divert the hobbit away from him, but his prayers go unanswered and the queer creature now stands before him, a friendly smile slathered on his face. Squashing the need to sigh heavily in his misfortune, Thorin raises a questioning eyebrow at his guest.

“Good evening.” The hobbit greets him coyly. 

Thorin levels the hobbit with a scowl and bites out an accusing “What do you want?” The gruffness making the hobbit swallow thickly before answering.

“Listen, I'm sorry to be a bother, but I...was hoping that perhaps you'd be able to help me out.” Thorin takes secret pleasure in watching him become flustered. “My friends over there have dared me to steal a kiss from a dwarf, but stealing really isn't respectable you see, and I don't mean to be forward but you're quite handsome compared to the others...maybe if you don't mind – may I?”

Thorin is flabbergasted by the hobbit's forwardness, but the rambling is a little endearing and his pride flares up in hearing such words from a gentlehobbit. Dwarves rarely seek company outside of their own but he agrees anyway, “Very well.” and it's after a pair of supple lips are upon his own weather-worn ones that he remembers what he's agreed to. 

Thorin assumed the kiss would be chaste and clumsy but to his surprise it's not at all what he was expecting. 

There's a small hand eagerly gripping at his shoulder and another tentatively dancing its fingers along the whiskers peppered on his throat and under his chin, rubbing up into his neatly trimmed beard – which he finds quite pleasing. Such affection has never been shown to him in such a way before nor has he ever actively sought it, never has he thought to indulge such frivolity.

He can feel the hobbit's tongue lightly trace the line of his lips, it's a polite gesture but Thorin isn't content with polite. The touch leaves a delightful burn on his lips and the heat of it rolls lazily down his spine, urging him to snake a hand of his own up to rest on a round hip, squeezing at it appreciatively, giving him the courage to meet that cordial tongue with his own. Thorin is captivated by the way the hafling slides his tongue meekly against his own, the curiosity turning to boldness as their activity persists. He adjusts their faces in such a way that allows him a better angle to deepen the kiss, the hobbit in turn trapping Thorin's tongue in his mouth to suckle on it...

The hushed sighs are quickly becoming problematic for his self-control, and it's with great reluctance that Thorin wrests himself away from the other body, but the sight before him is _almost_ worth the need for air: lips thoroughly abused, pupils blown wide, a rather pretty blush dusting exposed flesh. There's even a sweet lingering taste of honeyed mead in his mouth now too, contrasting the bitterness of the ale he had drank only a handful of minutes before. 

Thorin wants to say something and part of him even wants to reach out for the hobbit when turns to leave. In the end no words are spoken between them and Thorin doesn't reach out to stop the hobbit, whose name he does not know.

It 's only a few months later when Thorin is silently thanking the nameless hobbits that dared Bilbo Baggins to steal a kiss from a dwarf.


	5. E is for Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E is for eyes.
> 
> Bilbo can't stop staring at them.

Lately Bilbo has become quite distracted. When he thinks that no one is looking in his direction he turns his own gaze towards Thorin, more specifically the dwarf's eyes. He's always found them to be wild and pure, like lightning and cold mountain air. Thorin has seen fit to place Bilbo on his council as an advisor – whom later discovered that dwarves can be very long winded in their speeches and debates and their meetings are utterly boring. 

“You're staring again” Fíli whispers from Bilbo's left side. 

Bilbo quickly averts his eyes away from Thorin, finding the wall décor interesting. “Uh – was I?” He mutters.

Balin shoots them both an unimpressed look from the other side of the table where he's sitting next to Thorin, with Dwalin standing behind them.

Fíli isn't frightened by the old dwarf and persists with the line of conversation. “Yep, you aren't very good at hiding it.” Kíli snickers at Bilbo's right side now.

There's a bit of blank parchment in front of him and Bilbo uses it to distract himself from his original distraction. He'll never be as good as Ori when it comes to drawing, but he's quite proud of the stick figure reproductions of Fíli and Kíli sitting in a cauldron of boiling liquid. At some point between adding the squiggly lines for Kíli's hair and Fíli's neat facial hair Thorin asked him a question. 

A jab in the ribs from Fíli's elbow causes the quill in Bilbo's hand to horribly smear ink across his hard work. “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you would be amenable to assisting the men of Dale with their food growing.” Thorin reiterates and Bilbo can see the way those cursed eyes twinkle with amusement _at_ him.

“I – err... Yes, I would be quite agreeable to assisting them... in that endeavor.” Bilbo answers awkwardly, averting his stare away from the King again. Fíli and Kíli cover their mouths in a poor attempt to stifle their laughter while Bilbo grumbles about stupid dwarves and bewitching eyes.

The meeting drones on for another hour before Bilbo is finally allowed to escape the stuffy room.

“May I ask what it was that had you so distracted, Master Hobbit?” Thorin asks when he catches up to Bilbo, matching his pace.

“Well... –”

“It's your eyes Uncle!” Kíli shouts behind the duo.

“He finds them absolutely _bewitching_!” Fíli amends.

Thorin doesn't say anything more, but there's a smirk crawling across his face while Bilbo is over come by a bout of embarrassed coughing.

Bilbo hopes that the line of succession _after_ Fíli and Kíli is sorted.


	6. F is for Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F is for Family.
> 
> Family is not merely decided by blood, but it's a personal choice as well.

If anyone told Bilbo Baggins before the quest for Erebor that he would come to consider a group of dwarves as _family_ , he'd have laughed them right out of the Shire.

He has traveled past the boundaries of the Shire, faced off against trolls, trekked across wild lands, fought orcs and goblins, climbed mountains, soared on the back of a giant eagle, conversed with elves, met a skin-changer and even riddled with a dragon. While the events that occurred during the journey could have never been entirely foreseen and can certainly be called unfortunate, Bilbo likes to believe that he earned something far more precious than the reward written in the contract he signed. 

He had no need for gems and gold, ornate armor, or superb weapons. Hobbits are gentlefolk who enjoy comfort and food and above all else they love their family. It's been a very long time since he had a real family, family who wouldn't try and pilfer his good silver or try and make off with his mother's china, family who actually cared about him. It's been even longer since Bilbo has felt whole and content and he hates the price that had to be paid for him to make that realization.

Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin lay unconscious in a recovery tent together and Bilbo can't bring himself to leave them alone. The orc army couldn't have been accounted for during the reclamation of the mountain, but Bilbo felt guilty for a lot of the misfortunes that were encountered, even if some of that guilt is misplaced. He blames himself for his _family_ getting hurt, and it tears at his heart.

Bilbo gently strokes at Thorin's blood matted hair, silently praying to Yavanna and even Mahal that his family be spared, he didn't want to be alone again. He couldn't bear it if anymore of his family were stolen away from him like this, he wanted a second chance with them – he owed it to all of them.

So Bilbo waits and waits, and takes care of his family day and night.

It's been a little over a week since the battle and not much has changed. Óin explains to Bilbo that the boys could wake up soon, but he's not certain how much longer it will take Thorin to regain consciousness as his wounds were far more grave than what his sister-sons suffered. 

He remains vigilant and continues to say his prayers. Later that evening Fíli and Kíli briefly awaken and Bilbo takes that as a sign that he's been heard. 

A few more days pass and Bilbo still sits at Thorin's side, worried about how thin and pale the dwarf has become and he can't help but wonder if Thorin will last much longer. The thought is a dagger to his heart but Bilbo isn't sure he can keep holding on, his grief is beginning to consume him and not even Fíli or Kíli can console him, but he tries anyway.

At the beginning of the third week Dáin begins clearing out living space in the mountain in preparation for winter, he asks Bilbo to be Thorin's representative during the peace talks, as well as Fíli and Kíli. 

Bilbo returns to Thorin's tent one evening after a long day of talking and arguing, he's exhausted but they've finally made some headway and he's proud of how the dwarves are taking the highroad for once.

“The talks are finally moving along, it took a lot of coercion to get you dwarves and the elves on to common ground.” Bilbo says out loud, making himself comfortable on the wooden chair he frequently occupies. “Of course you wouldn't be happy with it... but we need them Thorin – or no one will last the winter, Dáin can't support us forever.”

Thorin remains silent but Bilbo continues the conversation.

“You were right about Erebor, it truly is a beautiful thing, though it will need quite a lot of elbow grease I'm afraid.” Bilbo muses, slipping a hand into Thorin's and twining their fingers.

“I...” Bilbo wants to say the things that he hasn't been able to say, even with Thorin asleep he finds it impossible to say them still, but words are no longer meaningful when he feels a twitch in the hand that's holding Thorin's. 

The entire moment is so surreal, and it's when Thorin is delicately clutching at his hand that Bilbo is completely certain that this isn't a cruel dream. 

“Bilbo.” Thorin says, his voice hoarse and wispy from two weeks of disuse.

It is then – hearing the voice which, as of late, has only been heard in dreams and memories – that he finally lets himself cry. 

The lids that have shut away Thorin's striking eyes for days flit open, refocusing themselves to see Bilbo properly. “Bilbo – why are you crying?”

Bilbo chokes out a sobbing laugh, bringing Thorin's hand up to press the palm of it into his face. “I'm crying because of you, you big lump!” 

Thorin's fingers lightly caresses Bilbo's cheek, smearing away the wetness there. “Forgive me.” He whispers.

Later when Bilbo can no longer cry, he admits out loud to Thorin that if he had died then it would have felt like losing family; the words are enough to bring tears to the dwarf's eyes.


	7. G is for Grumpy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G is for grumpy.
> 
> Thorin finds Bilbo's grumpiness irresistible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Thorin is well known for his hatred of mornings. 

He was a monster during the quest, he was a monster _before_ the quest, and if anything he's a bigger monster _now_. No one dared to wake Thorin Oakenshield up before ten in the morning for fear of earning the ire of the embodiment of grumpy.

The real threat, of which the inhabitants of the mountain are blissfully ignorant, is a grumpy Bilbo Baggins. It's a rare and lethal sight which the company knows to avoid on pain of death.

The first startling appearance of grumpy Bilbo was shortly after escaping the elven kingdom and making their stop in Esgaroth. The hobbit was sleep deprived and starved, Óin was the first casualty of the great beast as the company would tell it. The healer voiced his opinion on the entire matter of Bilbo's poor health after they received room and board from the Master of the town. His argument was built entirely on the basis that Bilbo refused the food offered to him, which he had, and denied himself self sleep when the imprisoned dwarves offered to stand sentinel while he slept a few hours.

The speed at which Bilbo had rounded on Óin was spectacular and the ensuing verbal argument a true visage of horror. These days when dealing with Bilbo, Óin is the epitome of niceties and patience and no one else has received such pleasant treatment from the cantankerous healer, _ever_.

On this particular morning the beast would rear its ugly head once more.

Their shared bed is a huge, four poster frame with an incredibly soft down mattress piled with supple furs and fluffy pillows and home-made quilts. Most days Thorin and Bilbo both have trouble pulling themselves out of such a heavenly piece of furniture, but it's a different experience where a certain grumpy hobbit is involved. When Bilbo wakes up in a grumpy mood he doesn't take his time with waking up, he doesn't pry himself away from Thorin's chest to turn in the dwarf's arms and share morning kisses, he doesn't stretch languidly before slipping out of the warmth of their sanctuary, and doesn't bribe Thorin with making breakfast. 

This morning Bilbo is roused from sleep with a bothered groan, wiggling out of Thorin's arms and inching towards the opposite edge of the mattress. The dwarf watches the show blearily – the missing weight of one hobbit in his arms waking him up. 

“What's wrong?” Thorin yawns, his joints cracking as he stretches himself out under the blankets and furs.

“S'too hot n' stuffy.” Bilbo groans.

Their shared quarters become quite chilly through the night when the fire in the hearth dies down, Bilbo complaining about it being hot and stuffy is the first indicator of his poor mood. Thorin lays on his back wiping away the sleep from his eyes when he hears a thud, Bilbo has reached the end of the mattress and has fallen to the floor, there's an unpleasant growling of hobbitish curses and he recognizes it as the second sign. The third comes when the hobbit has some how managed to make it to the bathroom, there's a shout colored with foul words, and Thorin knows that Bilbo has stubbed his toe on an uneven floor tile which he's been meaning to fix for a while now.

“Thorin, where's my...thing?” Bilbo whines pitifully from the bathroom.

There's a wonderful tingle on the back of his skull, and it crawls its way down Thorin's spine. It's a sensation that he only feels when Bilbo gets like this. His hobbit is usually _too_ nice for his own good, and when Bilbo is grumpy and snarling it unravels Thorin, tearing his desire wide open.

Thorin has the only known cure for grumpy Bilbo.

“What do you mean?” Thorin questions as he pulls himself out of bed, he knows that Bilbo meant his patched robe.

“You know, my _thing_.” 

“I don't think you own anything called a _thing_.” Thorin points out as he reaches the door, leaning casually against its frame.

“You're being insufferable, Thorin, you know good and well what I meant!” Bilbo snaps, shooting the dwarf an icy look.

Thorin pushes himself off the frame and stalks into the room, pointedly ignoring Bilbo's squawk of vexation, and wraps himself around the hobbit. He is a little disappointed that Bilbo has slipped on the night shirt that he peeled off just last night, but he'll enjoy peeling it off again later. 

“I'm not in the mood, Thorin.” Bilbo growls but it doesn't deter the dwarf nor does he miss a beat, replying with a 'but I am'. Thorin allows his hands to roam and grope at the body he's firmly pressed into and burrows his face into Bilbo's neck, breathing in the scent.

“You... You – confound you...” Thorin doesn't let Bilbo to complete that thought, adjusting his head to mouth the sensitive lobe of the hobbit's ear, earning him a strangled gasp.

He roughly grabs at the fabric of the night shirt, pulling it upward and bunching it as he goes, unsurprisingly Bilbo didn't bother slipping his small clothes back on – not that Thorin would complain – and the abuse he'd shown the sensitive lobe has already gone to the hobbit's crotch. He frees a hand of captured night shirt, holding it out of the way with the other, and takes a firm hold of Bilbo's erection giving it a good tug.

“Thorin...” He moans breathlessly, “Do we really have to do this now?”

“ _Yes_.” Thorin growls out, his voice heavily laden with desire, giving another firm stroke to accentuate his stance on the matter.

Thorin sucks the abused ear lobe into his mouth again, worrying it between his teeth gently, reducing Bilbo to incoherent keening. He can make out the garbled pleas tumbling from the hobbits parted lips, and of course Thorin fancies himself a generous dwarf so he gives Bilbo what he wants. The King turns his attention from Bilbo's ear to the exposed flesh on his neck while slowly fisting his cock with a sure grip. The sensations have Bilbo leaning his head against the Thorin's shoulder, allowing better access to the skin of his throat which Thorin laps at greedily.

Before long, the coil of release is tightening in the pit of Bilbo's stomach. A few more firm strokes and a deft hand pinching at an expose nipple sends him over the edge, his climax painting both the tiles beneath him and Thorin's hand with his seed. 

He plants a kiss on Bilbo's curls and pries himself away, leading the sex addled hobbit out of the bathroom and back to bed, ignoring the mess.

Eventually Thorin fully cures Bilbo of his grumpiness, and Bilbo is grateful.


	8. H is for Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H is for Hero.
> 
> Heroes are not chosen for their grand exploits and fearless deeds but are born from self-sacrifice, wielding compassion as their sword and courage as their shield.

The staring and whispering makes Bilbo's teeth itch.

He understands that dwarves have an inherent need for hero worship but the staring and whispering, even the bowing nearly has him pulling out his hair. _This is all somehow Thorin's fault_ , Bilbo huffs.

It's been well over three months since the reclamation of the mountain and the utter defeat of the orcs in the Battle of the Five Armies, what many of the dwarves have been calling the Bloody Winter, thanks to Ori and Balin. Dwarves have such barbaric customs, Bilbo thinks sourly, rolling his eyes as he passes another group of wide-eyed worshipers. He doesn't remember reading about this in the contact, but he also doesn't remember reading the clause where he's not allowed to eviscerate Thorin. Bilbo Baggins was going to murder Thorin Bloody Oakenshield, and he would feel zero remorse for doing the deed.

The battle of course had been quite horrific, as war usually is, and morbidly blown out of proportion.

The second army of orcs bore down on the northern flank, meaning to strike the united forces of the humans, elves and dwarves in the valley like a pincer. The warning came too late of course, cutting off Thorin's detachment and any hope for reinforcements, their position on Raven Hill was quickly becoming overrun with goblin mercenaries and blood thirsty orcs. 

The chronicle of the campaign states that the skirmish between Azog and Thorin was a baleful one, each fighter landing grievous blows to the other, slowly wearing each other down. With a great sweep of his sword, Azog knocks the King Under the Mountain to the ground, thrusting his blade downward for the killing blow. The King, in all his majestic kingly glory, blocks the blade with Orcrist – trying to riposte the attack and instead turning the fatal blow into a battle of wills. 

It is said that the blow which struck down the hulking Azog was delivered by Mahal himself.

The mere thought of embodying one of the Valar has Bilbo tempted to beat his head against the stone. He remembers the skirmish _a lot_ differently than the way Ori wrote it, the scribe took way too many liberties with the retelling.

The fight wasn't as grand as everyone believes it to be. Azog was forcing Thorin back, each step pushing him closer to the frozen waterfall cliff, and as Thorin's foot met the edge Bilbo slipped Sting in through a break at the back of the orc's armor and buried the blade deep in his heart. At the time Bilbo was shrouded by the magic of his ring, no one actually witnessed him slaying Azog and only Thorin knows about Bilbo's trinket.

He also remembers reading bits about unrequited love, a lot of pining, and an outlandish confession involving himself and Thorin... Bilbo added a few more dwarves to his mental list of retribution as he ascends the long stairway, leading to the raven perches just outside the mountain. The sun was high in the sky, blinding him as he exited, his arm shot up to block the light so his eyes could adjust to the new environment. Thorin is standing near a crumbling wall, speaking with a raven – Roäc, Bilbo guesses.

“So here you are.” Bilbo calls out as he approaches the dwarf.

With a nod of his head Thorin sends Roäc on his way and turns to face his visitor, a welcoming grin spread across his face. “Here I am.”

The hobbit is nearly rendered breathless by the sight, his words coming out more hoarsely than he would have liked. “I've been looking for you all morning, you know.”

Thorin lifts an eyebrow and moves to stand on front of Bilbo, “Have you? I've been busy all morning, only just now stealing myself away under the guise of tending to important missives.”

Bilbo represses the need to make a silly comment about stealing and burglars. “Were you actually taking care of some important missives, or was it just part of your ruse?”

“If I don't reply to Dís, I fear what she might do once she reaches the mountain.” Thorin grumbles.

Bilbo can hear the truth in his words but, by the time he's finished with the King, there will probably be little left for Dís to murder. “Well you and I need to have a serious discussion about retelling of the quest.”

“So it's finally out then?”

“Yes! And every dwarf beneath this mountain has been worshiping the very ground I tread upon, it's absolutely ridiculous!” Bilbo glowers. “I thought you said that you would oversee the writing and do the editing for the book?” 

Thorin pales at the accusatory look the hobbit pins him with. “I did!”

“If you did both of those things then it was a mistake to trust you with it in the first place! Did you even read the manuscript before it was published?!” Bilbo snarls.

“I – uh...I did not.” Thorin admits quietly.

Bilbo does his best to reign in his anger, focusing instead on imparting some enlightenment on the King. “You should read the chapter right after we escaped Goblin Town and Azog the first time, then. I'm sure you'll find the contents of that chapter quite an intriguing read.”

Thorin coughs nervously, “That was actually... _my_ addition to the tale.”

Bilbo narrows his eyes at the admission. “Thorin...” Suddenly everything that he's read in the book makes sense to him, but he has to ask anyway. “You wrote the romance in the book, didn't you?”

“I may have done a bit of the writing, my craft is not words, so I gave Ori artistic rights to adjust things as he saw fit.” Thorin says slowly.

Bilbo pinches the bridge of his nose tightly and squeezes his eyes shut, “The part about the Mithril shirt was true, wasn't it?” he hisses.

“Yes.” 

The confidence in which Thorin utters the monosyllabic answer catches Bilbo off-guard and he opens his eyes to stare comically at the dwarf. 

The King returns his gaze, adoration and love are keenly evident and it makes Bilbo's heart skip a beat. “Was it necessary to make me into some ostentatious hero?”

“Yes.” Thorin says again, stepping closer to the hobbit.

“Is it too late to return the Mithril shirt?”

Thorin snorts, “I'm afraid so.” and Bilbo groans.

“Next time I do the writing.” Bilbo demands, pressing his index finger into Thorin's chest, “I can't trust you dwarves to remain objective with your incessant and borderline obsessive need for heroes.”

“Every story needs its hero.” Thorin states as he grasps the hobbit's smaller hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the palm.

Bilbo rolls his eyes in exasperation.


	9. I is for Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I is for intrigue.
> 
> Dwarven politics are just a game, the courtly intrigue is just part of the fun, you play or you die.
> 
> Loosely inspired by [The Color of Possibility](), the DA:I Winter Palace plot, and the scene in LoTR where Frodo is nearly skewered in Moria.

He warned Thorin not to brush the threats off as harmless. _Nori_ even warned Thorin not to brush the threats off. 

In light of Thorin's stance on the alleged threats made on his life – Nori, the newly appointed Spymaster of Erebor, enlisted the help of the hobbit who had the ability to turn invisible. Bilbo's knowledge of dwarven culture and customs could fill a thimble, and for the sake of keeping a detailed account, Bilbo was _not_ okay with the plan. 

The King Under the Mountain was insistent on rebuilding Erebor's past relations with the few remaining dwarven kingdoms. In a ridiculous show of pomp and circumstance Thorin invites emissaries from all the other kingdoms to Erebor and decides to throw a ball. This of course was against the explicit advice of Nori and Balin. Bilbo had a vague idea of what Nori actually got up to during his time as a criminal, but the Spymaster's spotty past alluded to seasoned experience. Balin didn't want so many foreign dignitaries housed under the mountain at the same time so soon, Thrór made many enemies while under the influence of gold-sickness, he doubted that they had forgiven such abhorrent treatment.

_None of that mattered now_ , Bilbo mused. The ball was in full swing, there were many dignitaries, more than he ever imagined would show up. 

It took weeks of focused labor to clean and repair most of the mountain in time for the gathering. It was a miracle that things were going as smoothly as they were, the days leading up to the arrival of the other dwarf clans were been beyond stressful. For Bilbo though, his days became nail-biting agony when Nori approached him about Thorin's hair-brained scheme.

“I'll be needin' your help Master Hobbit.” Nori whispered one evening, pulling Bilbo into a dark alcove as the hobbit was leaving the library.

“What could I possibly do to assist the _Royal Spymaster_?” Bilbo hissed.

“You an' I are gonna haff ta keep an eye on the King since he wants ta make nice wif the other clans.” The hobbit tries to protest but Nori silences him with a hand and continues, “I've gotta plan, but I'll need your help wif that magic ring o' yours.”

How Nori knew about his ring, Bilbo didn't know, but what he _did_ know was that the Spymaster's idea was not much better than Thorin's. 

The entire plan was based on the premise that inevitably, one of the clans would attempt to assassinate Thorin and possibly even his heirs, it also hinged on Bilbo's ability to turn invisible. He would be made to keep a watchful eye out while the game was played as Nori put it. Hobbits don't like political intrigue, and now Bilbo understood why that was. 

The ball was dreary, the dwarves were snobby, the conversation bland and lathered with gossip, the food was about the only thing enjoyable but he couldn't eat it. He meandered around the massive ball room glumly, leaning in to hear what the foreign dwarves had to say about Erebor and his dwarves. The conversations were mostly in khuzdul, much to Bilbo's annoyance, and what little westron was spoken were pointed comments about the Arkenstone, the great treasure vaults and a grubby halfling. He didn't regret tripping the dwarf that had the audacity to call him grubby, it seems that the rudeness of dwarves was a strong genetic trait.

It was about time to check in with Nori when said dwarf happened to run into him, on purpose.

“You haff ta find Thorin!” He hissed urgently, “I found a couple guards in a storage room, all of em' had their throat cut.”

There were probably other details beyond finding dead bodies in storage rooms, but Bilbo didn't need to know the full extent at which the game was played. He rushes off in the direction where he last saw the King Under the Mountain. Bilbo took great pleasure in cutting a swath through the sea of squawking dwarves, but he was becoming more anxious the longer it took to find Thorin – he's nearly hysterical when the dwarf finally comes into his sights. Upon approach, Bilbo felt tempted to tug the ring off his finger just so he could engage Thorin in conversation to assuage his anxiety, but Nori made him swear to keep the ring on during the ball. 

There's aggressive movement coming from the crowd behind Thorin, Bilbo observes. An average looking dwarf breaks away from the cover of the other guests and rushes forward at the King from behind, shouting something in khuzdul.

Before Bilbo knew it, he was unsheathing Sting and rushing forward to intercept the assassin whom was now poised to strike. The first downward swing clips the Hobbit's shoulder, the ensuing pained yelp catching Thorin's attention and also surprising the assassin. As the King twists around, the assassin thrusts his blade forward in a last ditch attempt to at least fatally wound Thorin. 

There was very little Bilbo could do in his position, and thus ends up blocking the fatal blow with his own body; at the last second he lifts up his sword arm, the would-be assassin's momentum leads to him skewering himself upon Sting. Bilbo's grip on the sword loosens as he tilts, releasing his hold completely when he falls unconscious, collapsing on to the floor. 

Sting's hilt becoming visible forces Thorin to move from the spot where he had witnessed the assassin's second attack. The entire ball room goes from silent to deafening at the blink of an eye, but the noise is merely static to Thorin's ears as he kneels down to pat at the invisible body, searching for the hand that wore the magic ring. 

Thorin doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he slides the ring from Bilbo's finger and the breath is stolen from him lungs. His shoulders droop and a deep pain carves itself into the Dwarf's face, the thought of Bilbo standing between him and death _again_... He doesn't think or say a word, not trusting his mind or his mouth, but instead gathers up the still body of the hobbit into his arms and hugs him tightly to his chest.

While Thorin sobs, Bilbo regains his senses. The blow he deflected merely winded him but the pain in his chest makes him feel like he's truly dying, the King's tight hug did nothing to ease it.

“Thorin! Unhand me this instant, you great brute!” Bilbo hollers, the sound muffled against Dwarf's chest. It takes a bit of flailing and uncomfortable maneuvering for Bilbo to escape. Thorin paid none of it any attention, his eyes are closed and tears roll down his face into his beard.

“Thorin,” Bilbo speaks softly, kneeling next the dwarf. “Thorin look at me, I'm fine. I'm alive. Please... stop crying.” He pleads, tugging open his damaged clothing to reveal the unmarred beauty of the Mithril shirt. 

Still Thorin ignores him.

The hobbit hooks a finger under the King's chin to lift his face up, with his other hand Bilbo takes hold of Thorin's, placing it against the Mithril at his chest. “Open your eyes and see me, Thorin Oakenshield, _I am not dead_.” He pleads again.

A quiet moment between them gives Thorin the fortitude to open his eyes and chase away his greatest fear while Bilbo gently wipes away fresh tears, smiling when the Dwarf's gaze finally focuses on the exposed chainmail, caressing it reverently. The King heaves a great sigh when he's satisfied that Bilbo hasn't been cloven in twain, and leans his forehead against the Hobbit's.

Bilbo is content with the silence, he knows that if he hadn't been wearing the Mithril then he would surely be as dead as Thorin believed. 

He's had his fill of intrigue in this lifetime and the story of how he thwarted the assassin and saved Thorin is a hot topic after the fact. Bilbo is not happy about being referred to as Thorin's Bagginshield.


	10. J is for Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> J is for jam.
> 
> You've met Dwalin the cookie monster, now get ready for Thorin the jam bandit.

The jam was missing, _again_.

He didn't know how it was happening or who it was doing the thieving but the jam in the pantry kept disappearing. By the time Bilbo does pantry inventory late in the week before market day every jar is gone, and there are many jars.

At first Bilbo thought that perhaps it was Frodo and Sam, but the shelf is still a bit too high for the faunts to reach. His guesses were quickly beginning to lean in the direction of the Dwarves that hung around his smial, they all had a massive sweet tooth.

The initial investigation and general facts about the theft are overall very lacking. The thief left no clues – not even a spec of glass or splatter of jam anywhere, nor was anything else handled or moved or taken at the time of the theft. The other thing that bothered Bilbo was the day the theft had taken place, which must have happened between Monday and Highday, Sterdays are usually scheduled as market days. Bilbo always makes his special cinnamon scones on Sundays and there are plenty of leftovers that carry over into Monday. 

At least half the company demand jam to go with the scones on both those days. Bombur, Bofur, Thorin, Balin, Ori, and Fíli prefer their breads with jam, Bilbo ponders. Kíli is a wild card, he's picky about his jam – always preferring strawberry. However _all_ the jam jars were taken which means the thief didn't have a preference and it couldn't have been Kíli.

So the jam had to of been taken on either Trewsday, Hevensday, or Mersday and stolen by one of the dwarves who preferred jam. 

The jam conspiracy was quickly becoming confusing for Bilbo, so he pads down the hall to his study to write down his information so he doesn't get it jumbled. To his utter surprise, Thorin and Frodo are both sitting on the floor in the study, spooning out and eating the jam from some of the stolen jars. Bilbo takes a moment to enjoy the domestic scene before him – Frodo has one of his books open between them and they're giggling about something in the book. 

“Thorin Oakenshield and Frodo Baggins, what in Yavanna's name do you think you're doing?” Bilbo demands using his stern voice, trying to keep his face straight when both thieves freeze guiltily.

“I hope for your sake that isn't the jam that's mysteriously gone missing from the pantry, again.” Thorin shuffles uncomfortably and Frodo looks to his Uncle Thorin for guidance. 

“It... could be.” the dwarf says slowly.

“Uncle Thorin took it!” Frodo blurts and Thorin shoots the small hobbit with a withering look, not appreciating his nephew throwing him to the wargs.

The entire ordeal is so silly Bilbo can't handle it and he bursts into a fit of giggling. “I didn't take you for a burglar, Thorin.” Bilbo says teasingly as he joins them on the floor.

“Not a burglar, Uncle Bilbo, a bandit!” Frodo corrects him. 

The fond smirk on Thorin's face makes Bilbo's insides twist with adoration. 

“A jam bandit.” Bilbo amends, leaning in to kiss Thorin's cheek.


	11. K is for Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K is for Kingdom.
> 
> There is very little in his possession that Thorin wouldn't sacrifice for Bilbo.

Thorin knew in his heart that while Bilbo had forgiven him, and he knew he didn't deserve forgiveness, nothing would be the same between them. Sometimes when Thorin is at his lowest, he entertains the thought that it may have been better to have succumbed to his wounds after all that he has done, but his bleeding heart knows that death wouldn't be proper atonement for his transgressions.

They at least parted in friendship, which is all that Thorin allowed himself to hope for.

These days he watches Erebor flourish, slowly returning to its former beauty, becoming the greatest Dwarven kingdom on Arda once more. His people are home again and happy, they want for nothing, trade is thriving, and there is such wondrous peace. While his kingdom is happy Thorin is not, He's solemn and says very little and interacts with very few people, and usually isn't seen outside the royal wing barring the most dire of royal duties. Balin and Fíli take care of delegations, negotiations and many of the other duties Thorin does not, for all intents and purposes they are the face of the King.

The popular theory amongst the people is that the King is being called back to the stone.

The decline in Thorin's mood greatly affects his health, he's a shell of his former self and it pains the company to see him in such a state, the hearsay regarding the King isn't entirely rumor and Balin knows what must be done.

*

The journey went unhindered and Thorin made good time, traveling alone was refreshing and the lack of orcs was a rather nice touch. The rolling green hills, moderate temperature, and spring breeze is soul soothing; the fresh air doing wonders for the King, the change in surroundings seemed to coax Thorin from his poor disposition, literally breathing the life back in him. 

When he finally stands before a recognizable, round green door something within him begins to spark, seeing the rune still carved into the wood makes his heart throb painfully in his chest. He hesitates as he goes to knock, but his shame prevents him from doing so and he drops his arm back to his side, turning to leave until he hears the door swing open, a familiar voice staying his escape.

“Thorin?”

It's a sound that he believed for the longest time he'd never hear again; it makes him afraid to turn around and look the Hobbit in the eye.

“Thorin, are you alright?” Bilbo asks more urgently this time, darting around Thorin to examine him.

Thorin bows his head and stares intently at the ground, avoiding the questing gaze at all cost, but Bilbo is reaching out to angle their faces so he can look Thorin over. On instinct he's leaning into the touch as his pent up feelings overwhelm him, the longing Thorin has tried to bury since their parting escapes the prison in his mind. The self inflicted torture also resurfaces ten fold and it brings him to his knees, his chest is still aching and breathing has become difficult; he can feel wetness pool at the corners of his eyes and before the tears can roll down his cheeks, the Hobbit is wiping them away.

“Shhh.” Bilbo soothes, his expression is unbelievably kind.

Compassion ruins Thorin further and he can't help but encircle the Hobbit tightly within his arms, pressing his face into Bilbo's chest. They stay like that for a long while before Thorin composes himself enough to speak the words that have been on his mind since he abdicated the throne.

“I don't deserve to be here, but know that I would – that I _have_ given up my kingdom so that perhaps I may have a second chance. I would give up Erebor a thousand times if it meant _we_ could have a second chance.”

“I've been waiting quite a long time, you know.” Bilbo replies as he gently combs through the Dwarf's thick mane with his fingers. 

It wasn't an answer Thorin was expecting, but it's a blessing he'll thank Mahal for every day.


	12. L is for Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L is for lost.
> 
> Thorin refuses to back down from a challenge, Bilbo is just along for the adventure.

Every faunt is told stories growing up of old man Willow and the Barrow Downs on the other side of the forest to keep them from straying too far. The old forest of course is a dangerous place but Bilbo doesn't mind the stories much, it's the only place he can find true peace.

This particular morning he is wandering the oppressive gloom of the forest. 

He hums quietly as he navigates around gnarled tree roots and thorny bushes. All is quiet, and while most would say that there is such a thing as _too_ quiet, Bilbo enjoys the eerie stillness. The looming and intimidating trees, the shifting darkness, the musty smell, even the lurking danger are all comforts to Bilbo.

Twigs snap ahead of him, just a short distance away, his ears twitch as he listens for other sounds of movement, but he can't hear much of anything even as he stops and holds his breath. The rustling of under brush, crunching of withered plants, snapping of fallen branches and twigs are rather sedate; the sounds still come nearer to Bilbo though. 

Bilbo tightly grips his walking stick in hand, waiting for the inevitable, but what he doesn't expect is coming face to face with a sour looking Dwarf. Said Dwarf doesn't realize he isn't alone and continues to march forward and Bilbo has to scramble out of his path before he's run over. 

Of all the possibilities, however, a dwarf happening upon him was very low on his list and the breath that he'd been holding is released with a 'woosh'. The sound startles the dwarf to a halt, tearing his eyes up off the ground, and pulling him from his thoughts. The now confused dwarf spins himself around until his eyes focus on Bilbo, whom is as confused as he is – _what sort of dwarf roams around in a forest alone anyway?_ – and pins him with an accusatory glare like it was Bilbo who led him here in the first place.

“Good Morning.” Bilbo says with a smile.

The dwarf looks a little constipated, Bilbo observes, as the dwarf ponders silently whether or not to acknowledge his polite greeting with one in return. “What are you doing here?”

_Or not,_ Bilbo muses, and his smile begins to falter. “Taking a stroll in the forest? What are _you_ doing here?”

The Dwarf is silent again, the weird constipated glare is back and Bilbo has a hard time believing that he's anything but odd. He's never truly met a dwarf before now, but he's beginning to see why it might have been a good idea to avoid them entirely.

“I'm trying to get to Bree.” The Dwarf says hotly.

Bilbo shoots him a funny look, the Dwarf is going the complete opposite direction! “Are you not using a map? Or a compass for that matter?”

The new glare he was receiving just became the most dangerous thing in the whole forest. “I don't need a map nor a compass, I am not lost!” The dwarf denies haughtily as he stalks off in a different direction than where he came from.

_Oh for the love of..._ “Wait!” Bilbo hollers as he runs to catch up to the Dwarf.

“Go away you silly creature!” 

“Now you see here!” _how dare that beast of a dwarf insult him!_ “I am a respectable Hobbit, not some silly creature that lives in a forest!”

The Dwarf ignores him and keeps walking.

“If you keep going that way you're likely to wake up the willow!” He warns.

Silence.

“You're going the wrong direction!” Bilbo huffs and points North-East. “The road to Bree is that way.”

“I will find my way without your help, Hobbit.”

“Bilbo.”

“What?” 

“My name,” he says incredulously. “I am Bilbo Baggins... of Bag End.”

The Dwarf doesn't reply and Bilbo decides instead to follow the Dwarf silently, he could at least keep an eye out for the old willow's trickery.

*

The sun is slowly beginning to droop to the West, much to Bilbo's displeasure, and the Dwarf still remains adamant about finding his own way. When his stomach rumbles Bilbo is very temped to stop and eat his late lunch, but he's resigned himself to following the odd Dwarf and that meant he'd have to stop him too. 

“You should stop and rest for a bit.” Bilbo suggests.

“You're still following me?”

_Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!_ “Yes, I am still following you, because you're being ridiculous!” 

“I don't need your help.” The Dwarf huffs.

“And I suppose you don't want to share lunch with me either?” 

At that precise moment the Dwarf's stomach decides to remind its keeper that it still requires food. It is enough to get the Dwarf to stop, begrudgingly so, and find a suitable place to sit to eat his traveling rations. 

The log the Dwarf has found to rest on is covered in a thick blanket of moss and vines, but also long enough for Bilbo to sit down and join his unwilling companion. Neither say a word and Bilbo wants to cringe when _Grumpy_ , the name he's adopted for the ridiculous Dwarf, chews his unappetizing lunch of stale bread and hard cheese. 

Bilbo shrugs off his knapsack and digs out the slices of fresh seed cake he's carefully packed as well as the dried apple rings. 

Unwrapping the cake, he tentatively offers a slice to the Dwarf who stares him down with a side-long glance. Bilbo is ready to rescind the offer and eat the seed cake himself when Grumpy finally decides that he's brave enough to chance food freely given by a stranger, the thought of a Hobbit ruining good food with poison irritates Bilbo.

“It's safe I promise.” Bilbo says. “I baked it myself, and it's my mother's secret recipe.”

The Dwarf stiffens, uncertain of the sincerity in his words – Bilbo tries not to become offended by the close inspection his cake was getting. After a long moment the Dwarf dares to breaks off a piece from the rest of the slice and cautiously samples it. Bilbo is greatly amused by the way Grumpy works his jaw slowly to assess the new taste, then stops the motion suddenly when he realizes that the cake is better than what was eating previously. The way the dwarf's eyes widen when the realization hits him is rather attractive. 

“Like it?” 

“Thorin.” Grumpy replies through another mouthful of cake.

“What?” Bilbo says dumbly.

“My name is Thorin.”

“ _Oh_! It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Bilbo grins. 

Thorin tilts his head in acknowledgment as he stuffs the last of his cake into his mouth.

Bilbo shares the remainder of the cake, even offering up some of the dried apple slices too. The offerings seem to have softened Thorin's attitude, for which Bilbo is grateful. 

When they're both finished and standing, ready to leave, Bilbo tries his luck again in swaying Thorin from his previous endeavor. “It'll be getting dark before long and the forest isn't safe at night, will you allow me to escort you out?”

Thorin doesn't pull his face into the glare he leveled Bilbo when they first met, but the way the dwarf's forehead creases when he's thinking over the offer is quite endearing. 

“You may, but...” Thorin pauses, considering his next words carefully. 

“But?”

“But I'd be more inclined to accept if you're willing to trade to me more of that cake.”

The request is an odd one but Bilbo isn't going to pass up such a generous compliment from a grumpy, but quite handsome dwarf. “Then we have a deal!” He giggles.

“Then by your leave, Master Hobbit.” Thorin bows cordially.


	13. M is for Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M is for map.
> 
> Bilbo likes collecting maps.

Bilbo has many hobbies for a Hobbit. He enjoys: baking, story writing, participating in conkers, reading, and among other things – map collecting.

There's just something about maps that Bilbo finds calming. 

He owns maps of major cities and under ground tunnels, maps of Middle-Earth drawn by every race, regional maps sketched by locals. Each cartographer tells a story in the way they took great care to illustrate rugged mountains and soft rolling hills or winding rivers and sleepless oceans.

The newest addition to his collection, and by far his most favorite, is Thorin's map. The same map that led thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit on a ridiculous quest to kill a dragon and take back a lost kingdom. 

Bilbo touches the framed map reverently, the memories it holds are very dear to him, and were it not in Gandalf's possession, Bilbo would have never met Thorin Oakenshield or his company of Dwarves

Were it not for that map, Bilbo might not have experienced true love.


	14. N is for Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N is for nest.
> 
> Hobbits are spring loving creatures for a reason

It is Bilbo's second winter living in Erebor.

And he absolutely loathes it, Thorin has observed.

Reconstruction is progressing really well, the Dwarves are very kind to the Hobbit – but, the winters are dreadful. Shire winters are very tame – ignoring the one fell winter Thorin heard stories about – but Bilbo has never seen so much snow in his entire life in comparison to more recent experiences. It's everywhere and there is _a lot_ of it, the drifts are as tall as Elves. Last winter Fíli and Kíli had managed to drag the Hobbit outside after a particularly aggressive snow storm, he nearly got lost in all the drifts and by the time the miscreants found him an hour and a half later Bilbo was colored blue with the chill.

This winter Bilbo was adamant that he would stay in his rooms and 'hibernate' through the winter if it meant he didn't have to step outside again until spring was upon them.

Lately there have been strange _occurrences_. Since the restoration of the royal palace things have gone missing, and not the valuable sort of items, but the thick furs and blankets from every room have just... vanished – even several pillows have been seized. Even now Thorin is sitting in an emergency council meeting – why it had to be a full meeting was beyond him – addressing this odd issue. Yes, winter made it more difficult to replenish the animal furs or get the threads to make proper blankets, but there was no reason for everyone to get their breeches in a bunch.

The screeching of the council members gave him a migraine, and Thorin spent more time shooting Balin pleading looks rather than listen to a bunch of nobles complain that even their blankets and pillows were beginning to disappear. He was quite aware of the blanket thief, but he didn't have the heart to tell anyone that so far every room but his own had been burgled.

Until today.

It had taken quite a bit of yelling and some icy glares from Balin – _Mahal bless him!_ – to finally get out of the unnecessary 'meeting'. As Thorin turns the corner going into the corridor that the King's chambers lie, he is met with a peculiar sight. Bilbo has a nice pile of blankets and furs in his arms, struggling to shut the door to the King's chambers. Finally managing to shut the door, Bilbo waddles over to the next door which leads to his own rooms; watching him balance the pile and open a door was comical to say the least, Thorin had a difficult time holding in his mirth. 

Once the hall is clear Thorin beelines straight to Bilbo's chambers. He twists the door knob slowly and gently presses the door open, slipping in as quietly as he was able. If Bilbo burgling him was an odd sight then he certainly had no words to explain what he was witnessing now. 

In the middle of the sitting room there lay an enormous mound of all the stolen blankets, furs, and pillows. Bilbo was stuffing his newly procured items into the mound through a hobbit sized opening in the side. Thorin wasn't quite sure how to react, the scene was a bit surreal, but he could feel the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Thorin found it difficult to keep the amusement out of his voice when finally speaks up to confront the Burglar. “What in Mahal's name is this?”

“Oh!” Bilbo yelps, spinning around to face the King. “T-Thorin! I...uh – well you see...”

The dwarf is still inspecting the architecture of the mound, which is rather good he notices. “I've been wondering where it's all been going.”

Bilbo clears his throat nervously, surely expecting to be yelled at for his thievery. “It's cold you see, and we Hobbits don't fancy the winter.”

The dwarf moves closer to the mound and to Bilbo, turning to gaze onto the Hobbit's at last. There are a myriad of expressions ghosting over the smooth face until it settles on bewilderment when Thorin speaks again. 

“Are you not going to invite me in?” Thorin smiles.

Bilbo is torn between fleeing the room or burrowing into his blanket nest, but in the end he does invite Thorin into his nest.


	15. O is for Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O is for omens.
> 
> Bilbo has had about enough of Óin and his portents.

Óin is very superstitious for a dwarf, so superstitious that is gotten out of hand and Bilbo is at his wits end. 

It all started when Thorin and Bilbo officially began courting. It was a long time coming and happened to be the longest running bet since the midway point of their journey to Erebor. When the couple made their happy announcement and bets were exchanged, Kíli failed to catch his winnings. Bilbo thought nothing of it, it was natural that such a thing could occur, but it seemed serious to Óin and the old dwarf rambled on about ill omens and a rotten relationship; it ended up freaking Kíli out, the young dwarf didn't want to be be blamed for destroying a courtship. 

Eventually everyone put the whole thing behind them.

When it came time for the exchanging of the first courting gifts Bilbo had prepared a wonderful dinner for Thorin and himself. 

All was peaceful until the rest of the company decided to invite themselves under the pretense of _chaperoning_ the event. Dwarven courtship is quite a lot different than Hobbit courting and so the couple had a compromise, and the first gifts to be exchanged are weapons, symbolizing that they would protect each other through all of life's hardships. 

For Bilbo, Thorin crafted twin daggers: the cross-guards have been fashioned into oak leaves, the hilts decorated with winding vines and more leaves, encrusted with tiny glimmering gems of emerald and citrine, and the pommels have been fitted with a beautifully carved acorns. 

The time and devotion that went into the weapons does not go unnoticed by Bilbo, he's never been more happy in his life to see weapons placed in his hands than he was at that moment. 

In exchange Bilbo gifted to Thorin one of the oldest hobbit heirlooms still in existence. It is a bow, carved from an old yew tree, stained dark and polished so well that it gleams in the light. On the limbs are intricate floral carvings, the grip has been refitted with supple leather, and restrung with a reverse-twisted string of vegetable fiber and warg sinew.

Thorin has always preferred melee weapons over ranged, but he could not deny the elegance of the bow. When he sets the gift gently on to the table so he can pull Bilbo into a hug, the bow string snaps and the force of the loosened string nearly upturns a goblet of wine to the surprise of everyone.

It was a strange thing too, the bow string had just recently been made thanks to Tauriel. Óin had a field day with the meaning behind the string snapping like it had.

From then on the old healer had many opinions to share about everything: there were ill omens in how Bilbo sipped his tea or how Thorin scowled and snapped at his court, or omens in the wake of the chaos Fíli and Kíli wrought. The ridiculousness of the omens and their meanings were escalating to a point where they were outlandish and unfounded, bordering on insane even.

It was the day before their marriage ceremony, Thorin and Bilbo were relaxing in the sitting room of the king's chambers enjoying each others company, when the door was violently kicked in. Óin followed by Bofur, Bifur and Glóin – who were doing their damnedest to prevent Óin from rampaging – barged in to the surprise of both Thorin and Bilbo. There was yelling and furniture being thrown around and more yelling, it was like the second coming of Morgoth.

“Enough!” Bilbo roared, the pile of wrestling dwarves stilled and silence fell upon the room.

Bilbo straightened his jacket and huffed, collecting himself enough to at least appear respectable. “Now then, what is the meaning of this?”

“I read the portents, laddie –”

“Get out.” Bilbo interrupted, his words were as sharp as Orcrist's blade. “All of you get out, _now_. I won't have you traipsing around, ruining everything I've worked very hard to organize. The ceremony will go on as planned, _I will be marrying Thorin_ , and I don't give a toss what your _portents_ say, do I make my self clear?” 

He leveled all the dwarves with a menacing glare, none dared to speak, only nodding as they disentangle themselves and remained silent as they made to leave, fixing the door the best they could on the way out.

Bilbo took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, calming himself down, the dwarves brought out the absolute worst in him sometimes – Thorin was the biggest offender.

“I happen to known of a remedy that will ward off all these ill omens.” Thorin offers salaciously, winding his arms around Bilbo's middle. 

Automatically the hobbit's arms respond, hooking themselves around Thorin's neck, pulling them closer. 

“Then we best make haste, lest our marriage withers under the foulness of them.” He says airily, the words ghosting onto the dwarf's lips.

Sooner or later, between heated kisses and stripping their clothes off, they make it to the bed and thoroughly dispel the bad omens.


	16. P is for Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P is for perfect.
> 
> Thorin is always having to remind Bilbo.

Bilbo is fussing with the imaginary wrinkles of his coat, brushing away nonexistent specks, shuffling in front of the mirror restlessly, more self-conscious than such a brave hobbit should be. 

There was always something that he hated about himself: the way half his hair would curl in the wrong directions, how tightly his clothing would cling to his thin features, his clothes drawing too much attention to his feet. Sex always began with an awkward dance of kissing and stripping, Bilbo instinctively wraps his arms around himself, hiding behind a mountain of insecurity. 

The terms of his contract, his need to help the dwarves retake their home – regain their legacy, it changed Bilbo. Gone was the soft roundness and generous curves of his body, his Baggins respectability and hobbit-y manners. And when Bilbo wanted to return home Thorin followed him.

Thorin remembered what it was like to be in exile, to be looked down upon and to feel ostracized no matter where he and his kin traveled. What he did not expect was the cold reception Bilbo received when he returned to his _own_ home, one that he never lost like the dwarves had. Hobbits always seemed like nice folk when they weren't throwing dwarven caravans suspicious looks. 

On their first trip to the market, Thorin observed first hand just how awful hobbits could treat their own if they failed to meet the community's social standards. _Bagginses are far too respectable to go out on adventures,_ Bilbo had once told him and now Thorin understood why. They were nasty gossipers, whispering and scowling, not caring if Bilbo or he couldn't hear them or not. He didn't like the way they tossed around the words 'too thin' or blatantly accused Bilbo of being anything less than respectable. Thorin had no care in the world for the words of naysayers, but Bilbo's skin wasn't thick enough for it.

Eventually the bullying and the shaming lessened, but every now and then Bilbo finds himself low enough to take the negativity to heart, and Thorin must remind Bilbo that no matter what, he is _loved_.

“Bilbo.” Thorin whispers against bare skin, “My Bilbo.”

Bilbo squirms under him, pressing up into Thorin's heat, the touch of their flesh stealing a whine from his lips. He can't help but trail his hands and fingers appreciatively over the hobbit's soft skin, following the slender curves and dancing over the occasional scar, dragging his finger nails over sensitive nipples and pinching lean thighs. 

“You are so perfect, Bilbo, do you know? Never have I known such a perfect creature – such a lovely hobbit.” Thorin praises, peppering Bilbo's naked chest with kisses.

“Don't lie.” Bilbo denies pitifully as he tries to cover his body with his arms.

Thorin delicately wraps his big hands around Bilbo's small wrists, gently urging them away from their defensive position. “I would never, _Sanûrzudê_ , never to you.”

Bilbo can hear the sincerity in his truths – Thorin knows, but it doesn't stop the hobbit's eyes from fluttering open to stare at him with uncertainty. “You mean it?”

“My word is my bond, everything about you is perfect.” Thorin says as he leans down to press their foreheads together.

The words seem to pacify the dark thoughts that lurk about, but Thorin makes it his mission to further reveal Bilbo's perfection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sanûrzudê - My pure sun


	17. Q is for Quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is for quill.
> 
> There are three reasons why Thorin isn't allowed to use them, and one reason why he absolutely should.
> 
> NSFW

There are many who assume that the princes, Fíli and Kíli, get their mischievous nature from Dís, but it is Thorin that has encouraged their silly behavior since birth. Thorin never had any real motivation to be mischievous during the quest, a modicum of seriousness was required after all, but there were plenty of opportunities after the fact for such conduct. 

Thorin's weapon of choice is the quill.

The first time the dreaded quill is used, is during a particularly dull meeting with the guild masters. Two of the guilds, Weavers and Smiths, are rearing to tear each others throats out – much to the chagrin of the King. 

“The Weaver's have been waiting a fortnight for more funds! Is it not far more important to saturate the market with more cloth goods than it is to make more metal wrought equipment?” A Weaver argued loudly.

“The guards and the armory both are in dire need of newly forged armor and weapons! What will happen if an enemy should darken our doorstep?!” The Smith guild master roared back.

It was the same dispute for the past half hour, Thorin had stopped paying them any attention about an hour ago. Skillfully he twirled a fresh quill between his fingers, tuning out the screaming of the dwarflings. He sighed ruefully, this could not have been what he imagined when setting out to reclaim Erebor – dealing with immature guild masters.

“Is there a problem, Majesty?” Dwalin grunted, clearly amused by his King's attitude.

Thorin examined him with a side-long glance, searching for a vulnerable spot in Dwalin's guard armor. 

There was a small patch between the breastplate and leggings, unprotected by armor, thin enough to be prodded at with the right weapon. If he had to suffer then he would make Dwalin suffer as well.

Without a second thought, Thorin grips the quill and swings his arm backward to strike Dwalin's soft spot with the pointed end of his weapon. 

The string of profanity and insults that ensue silences the entire hall.

*

The second time a quill is used to incite chaos is just before dinner. 

Thorin returns to the sitting room of his chambers to deal with some important documents before it's time to join everyone for the evening meal, he discovers that Fíli and Kíli have broken in and have fallen asleep on a sofa in his sitting room, _again_. It's a frequent occurrence, one that no longer really bothers him, but Thorin isn't against petty revenge – especially against his aggravating sister-sons. 

Unfortunately for the both of them, they are heavy sleepers and neither twitch when Thorin moves to grab a quill and ink pot from his desk. 

Thorin prides himself in his steady hand, making quick work of his artistry. Once finished he then slips out and into the corridor silently with a smug look slathered on his face.

Everyone but Fíli and Kíli have gathered in the dinning hall – they all have a perfect view of the entrance when both princes stumble in. The chatter abruptly halts, forks and spoons clatter onto plates and into bowls, and those who haven't immediately noticed follow the gazes of the others in the hall – zeroing in on the faces of Fíli and Kíli.

There is generous amounts of ink smeared on both their faces, streaked lewd images and filthy words covering every available space. 

Bofur can't keep his mouth shut and his booming guffaws snowball into hysterical laughter, pulling the rest of the room into it.

It takes the brothers a couple minutes before they turn to each other to see what exactly has the entire hall cackling. Making the discovery has them both red faced with embarrassment. 

Bilbo merely shoots Thorin – who is looking quite smug, a disapproving look.

*

The third appearance of the quill comes around when Dís is splayed out on her bed. After a hard night drinking and celebrating she is passed out, wearing the clothes from the day before and her braids are still twisted into her hair – in complete disarray. If you woke her up to ask what the celebration was for in the first place the likelihood of getting a coherent and reliable answer is non-existent. She's always believed in partying hard, putting no stock in the saying 'moderation in all things'.

Thorin enjoys a good party, likes to drink his fill of ale and have a good time. What he doesn't appreciate is how ridiculous Dís can become once her blood runs like the booze she has inhaled. There are many types of drunkards, but Dís is the thoroughly uninhibited drunk; were it not for Balin or her sons she's more than likely to streak through the corridors bare as newborn babe. 

During the celebration she saw fit to spew every silly story she had concerning the King in his younger years.

In retaliation Thorin expertly invaded her bed chamber, a very large jar of strawberry jam nestled between his arm and chest, a wooden spoon in his hand and a very fluffy quill in his pocket.

He carefully adjusts her arms so that her palms lay face up and open; unscrewing the top of the jam jar, Thorin spoons out generous servings of the sticky strawberry goo into both hands. 

Content that everything was in order he fishes out the fuzzy quill from his robe pocket – lifting the feathered end to Dís's face. 

Thorin slowly runs the tickling weapon across the bare patches of skin, dusting lightly across her eyes: up, over and into her nose until finally both jammed hands reach up to rub at the bothersome tickling – smearing the goo everywhere the feather touched. 

The resulting bellow that rung out a while later was the sweetest sound Thorin ever had the pleasure hearing.

*

The most recent use of the quill was entirely accidental.

Thorin sat at his desk, scribbling on old missives and trade agreement rough drafts – catching up on backlogged paperwork while Bilbo sits comfortably in the arm chair near the burning hearth, silently reading a thick tome filled with translated dwarven legends and myths.

When the King becomes restless, thanks to his paper work, he begins to fidget; he trails the feathered end of his quill across his face, swiping it gently between the line of his lips, over his furred cheeks, down the line of his throat. Thorin doesn't realize that he does it nor does he notice that it catches the interested eye of a certain hobbit, the sensual movements of the quill have completely enthralled Bilbo.

Bilbo's eyes follow Thorin's movements attentively, never veering from the point where the feather met skin; after a while when the King stays his hand Bilbo slams the book shut and scrambles out of the arm chair, dashing across the room and clambers onto Thorin's lap.

“W-What in Mahal's name are you doing, Bilbo?!” He spluttered, the suddenness of the invasion surprising Thorin.

“You don't even realize –” Bilbo said breathlessly, “– do you? What you're doing...” 

Thorin becomes distracted in the way the Hobbit situates himself on his thighs, how he grasps desperately at the loose folds of his tunic and firmly presses into him. He can't help but snake his arms around Bilbo – hooking an arm around his waist, using the other to crush their mouths together: lips, tongues and teeth polymerize into an amalgamation of lust – licking, biting, sucking simultaneously. Bilbo's eagerness has him achingly hard, straining against the tightened fabric of his trousers, pleading for relief. 

“ _Oh!_ ” The Hobbit mewls against demanding lips as he grinds himself into the clothed hard muscle of Thorin's stomach. The King encourages the motion, lowering both hands to clutch the pliable mounds of Bilbo's ass, pressing the other body into him. 

He drags heated kisses from Bilbo's mouth, along the soft line of his jaw to his neck – beard scratching against the skin as he goes; reaching the Hobbit's ear, he sinks his teeth into its sensitive lobe – the rough treatment sends lightning arcing down Bilbo's spine, ripping a high pitched whine from his lungs, bringing him to climax. 

Bilbo leans his body forward, resting upon Thorin's chest as he rides out the tremors of his euphoria.

Thorin allows the Hobbit a moment of respite before breaching the silence. “You'll finish what you started, I hope.” 

He's still painfully hard despite Bilbo's climax, the throbbing need of his cock becoming unbearable. 

Bilbo darts his tongue out to wet his lips and scoots backward allowing some space between them, dropping his hands down from Thorin's chest to his crotch to deftly pick at the knotted lacing of the dwarf's trousers - relieving the pressure on Thorin's cock when he finally loosens them.

“Would you like my mouth or hand?” Bilbo finally asks, cupping the King through the fabric of his pants.

“Both!” Thorin groans.

Bilbo shimmies down from the dwarf's lap and on to the floor, imagining all the things that could be done with a quill as he takes a firm hold of Thorin's considerable girth.


	18. R is for Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R is for redemption.
> 
> Thorin still felt like an exile, but remembering the reason why he's here in the first place pushes him closer to atonement.

He can feel them, the cold fingers of death that wrap themselves firmly around his throat – squeezing the breath from him. They sap the strength from him even now as he stumbles to the edge, to gaze once more upon his home before the vision is cruelly stolen away from him again. He wants to scream, to stomp and growl at the unfairness of it all, but his poor deeds had a clever way of turning back on him. The heat is leaving his body, spilling out into the crisp winter air and the unbearable tingling has spread from his fingers and toes to his shoulders and hips. 

Thorin lacked the strength to hold himself together and the ability to stand fails him – his world falls down. 

He expected to die alone, he felt that he deserved it after all that has transpired: stealing a hobbit away from his home, bringing his sister's sons on a suicidal journey just to see them spill their blood for him, breaking many promises along the way; the thoughts are too painful to recant. Thorin wanted to laugh at the heartlessness of the Valar, how could they be so callous bringing Bilbo to his side as he lay dying. He hasn't earned the privilege to beg for Bilbo's forgiveness, but he's relieved to see the hobbit in one piece – 

“Bilbo!” He wheezes, struggling to adjust himself.

“Don't move, don't move. Just lie still.” Bilbo pleads, eyes quickly darting down to the no doubt ugly wound in his chest. “ _Oh!_ ” The broken gasp ruins Thorin.

“I am glad you are here.” And it's the truth, he didn't want to be alone even if he felt he didn't deserve such a gift. 

He smiles up at Bilbo.

“Shhh, don't waste your breath.” Bilbo tries to hush him, putting pressure on Thorin's open wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding. The pain it incites is fierce, but the heart behind the act is true and it soothes him.

“I-I wish to part from you in friendship.” There are so many things he wants to say to Bilbo, but the coldness has nearly consumed him and it's becoming difficult to stay lucid.

“No... no you're not going anywhere, Thorin” The hobbit whispers urgently. “You're going to live.”

Thorin wishes those words were true, he would have quite liked to stay beside Bilbo, perhaps see the Shire once more, but those thoughts were a fantasy – dreams that would never see the light of day. “I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate. You did only what a true friend would. I was too blind to see it, forgive me.” Tears that have gathered in his eyes spill gently over his cheeks. “I am so sorry... that I led you into such perils.” 

A warm hand kindly wipes away the freezing tears sliding down his face. 

“No, I–I'm glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin.” Bilbo's voice trembles. “Each and everyone of them and it is far more than _any_ Baggins deserves.”

There are other thing's he needs to say, to tell Bilbo farewell: return to his books and his armchair, plant his seeds and watch them grow. Thorin can't. The words are lodged painfully in his throat and the thought of leaving this world, leaving Bilbo – he lifts his unfeeling hand up to Bilbo's face, hoping that perhaps he can steal a bit of the hobbit before he makes one last journey to the halls of his ancestors. 

He understands now that it is love he's come to feel for the hobbit, but it shouldn't have taken so long nor should it have cost him so much for the realization. Before he can form the words with his mouth his vision darkens and the last thing he hears as he slips into eternity are Bilbo's garbled sobs – _the eagles are here._


	19. S is for Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S is for sunrise (or sunset).
> 
> If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by [this fan art](http://idahlart.tumblr.com/post/131449573982/i-made-a-nicer-version-of-my-comic-thanks-for).  
> I highly recommend listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvkosRv_4-Y) as you read.

These lands are always in perpetual twilight, the sun never rising nor ever fading. 

Here he does not require sleep or sustenance; when one contemplates the afterlife they do not imagine it to be so... _lonesome_ , empty even. Thorin fully expected to find himself in the cavernous halls of his maker, Mahal – but these emerald hills, flowering fields and amber skies remind him of another place he once tread.

First arriving in these gladdened lands, Thorin attempted to keep track of his time spent waiting for _something_ to happen, for anyone to find him. Yet nothing happened and no one came. The never ending sunset (or was it sunrise?) disoriented him, his poor attempt at time keeping was easily forgotten, bleeding together with the shadow of forlornness in the recesses of his mind. He took to wandering amongst the quiet forests and beside babbling streams; the seed of longing burrowed itself into the roots of his heart.

Thorin could not be happy here alone. 

The aspect of time never makes itself known, and Thorin can only guess at the total time spent here. The displacement he felt upon his arrival waned, the quiet and calm still bothered him; every now and then he would feel a tightening in his chest as his heart raced, it was as if he were trying to pull up some long forgotten memory. For the life of him he could not fathom what it was he was missing, there was a hollowness within him, even the warmth of the afterlife could not stave off the coldness that he felt creeping along the edges of that chasm. 

His deep-seated despair hewed at his sanity. The mere thought of falling back into madness brings Thorin to his knees.

“Have I not suffered enough madness already that I must suffer it again in death?!” He howled.

There was no answer, a part of him knew there wouldn't be and the hysterical laughing poured from him. The sound of it was rough and pained, morphing in sobbing only to be muffled as he crumples forward – face falling into the crook of his elbow; the miserable feelings wrack his body and pry from him many decades worth of suppressed tears and agony.

_'Why are you crying, child of stone?'_

Warmth spreads itself through Thorin, it is an odd radiating comfort which gently soothes the ache in his chest – chasing away the shadows of despair.

“Whose there?” Thorin snuffles, wiping away the wetness on his face as he picks himself up off the ground.

_'I am the keeper of this garden.'_

Thorin swiveled his head, searching for the being who owned the voice. “Why am I here? I should be with my kin, in Mahal's stone halls!”

_'Be calm, for it is I who have brought you to this place.'_

“What trickery is this that you would keep me here, in-in this maddening solitude! Have my wrongs been so grievous that I am unworthy of facing my creator's judgment?!” Thorin growled accusingly, his temper flaring.

Amused chuckling resonated within Thorin, filling him to the brim with kindly feelings, pushing away his anger and annoyance.

_'It was not our intent to make you feel so, Thorin Oakenshield – but take heart. This is no punishment bestowed upon you for the mistakes you have wrought. Have patience.'_

Thorin knew that he should find all these cryptic words ridiculous, they were spoken by a disembodied voice for crying out loud! Yet there was some... truth buried within their meanings.

“What is it that requires my patience?” Thorin fished.

The voice never answered, much Thorin's irritation, and so he busied himself to forget about his isolation and its maddening silence.

Patiently he waited.

*

Thorin is resting against a tree near his little cottage, content to stare out into the perpetual sunset-sunrise, when he spots a figure off in the distance. The silhouette has his heart crawling up into his throat, his chest constricts in anticipation. Long has he waited in this peaceful valley, and until now not a single visitor has come to seek him out. 

If it were possible in this immortal realm he would surely die where he stood; for as the visitor came nearer, its visage becomes clearer in Thorin's eyes.

“ _Bilbo_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt in the chapter summary is from a poem called **The Farewell** from  The Prophet, a book of poems written by Khalil Gibran.


	20. T is for Ticklish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T is for Ticklish.
> 
> Knowing your foe's weakness is the key to winning any battle.

Thorin Oakenshield had many bad habits. They are ranked one to ten; one being the least annoying and ten having the ability to summon the second coming of the War of Wrath.

Today was a strong seven.

Bilbo sat in his armchair, book open on his lap, attempting to read translated khuzdul poetry while Thorin stomped around, pacing long lines back and forth in the common room. He couldn't quite catch the entirety of the mumbled rant, Bilbo's khuzdul was very shaky at best, but the gist of it had to do with irritating elven royalty – Legolas specifically. How Thorin got anything done with his temper was anyone’s guess.

“For goodness sake, Thorin!” Bilbo huffs in irritation, slamming his book shut. “I don't know what it is that Prince Legolas has done, but surely you are blowing this way out of proportion. You could at least spare me your melodrama!”

“That _slug_ has been tormenting me in and out of our meetings!” Thorin growled, still pacing.

Bilbo turned to shoot a glare in the dwarf's direction.“If he even twitches an eyebrow in your direction it's a declaration of war. You dwarves are ridiculous!”

Thorin ignored the comment and still paced and growled and glared, he wouldn't stop any time soon. Bilbo rubbed his face, chasing away his weariness – enough was enough.

Bilbo set his jaw and slipped out of the armchair, putting his book on the arm. “I am afraid I'll have to take drastic measures, Thorin.” He said seriously. “Just remember that you brought this upon yourself.”

With no warning Bilbo launches himself at Thorin, the surprise attack catches the dwarf off guard and he gets tackled to the ground.

“Bilbo, stop–” Thorin hollers as a barrage of deft fingers begin their assault on him.“N-no no, anything but that _pffft-haha_... Stop!”


	21. U is for Unlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> U is for unlock.
> 
> Bilbo is too determined for his own good and Thorin is an expert in hiding things.

Dwarves by their very nature are protective of their belongings, so it's no surprise to Bilbo that Thorin likes to hide things behind lock and key.

Hobbits by their very nature are crafty, curious and determined. Bilbo happens to be a very determined hobbit.

He has searched every place in their shared rooms – has picked every average lock secreted away within drawers and in false bottom chests, and still Bilbo cannot find Thorin's secret stash.

“Where did he hide it –” He mutters to himself while his eyes do another pass at the room.

“Where did I hide what?” 

Bilbo stiffened, he knew he had been caught – Thorin had impeccable timing it seemed. “Well, you see...”

“You were looking for the safe, were you not?” Thorin asked casually.

“Oh! N-no, nononono nope. Why... would I be looking for a safe? I seem to have... ah – misplaced my handkerchief. Yes! You haven't come across it have you?”

Bilbo chanced a look at Thorin's face, his own pinched as though he had just ate a lemon – the dwarf looked _way too_ smug.

“Yes. Yes I was looking for that blasted safe!” Bilbo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest with irritation. “Are you quite happy now?”

The dwarf hummed, rubbing at his furred chin. “I hope you haven't lost your touch _burglar_.”

“To be fair, you're much better at hiding things than a dragon.” Bilbo countered, lifting his chin up indignantly.

Thorin merely grinned, stepping away from Bilbo's side to an unoccupied corner of the bedroom. Making sure that the hobbit had a good view of the hiding spot, he pulled up one of the obsidian tiles at ran along the wall; underneath the tile was Thorin's safe. With a couple flicks of his wrist he twists in the dial lock combination. 

“Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to _burgle_ me?” Thorin says suggestively, raising an eyebrow at Bilbo.

“You put in quite the effort to hide the rock candies.” 

Thorin chuckles. “I hide them so that I may sell them to you for a modest sum. But now that you know my hiding place you'll have to learn how to unlock the safe yourself, unless... you have something of equal worth to bribe me with.”

Bilbo knows what Thorin is asking after, but he's not against making the dwarf work for it.“What sort of payment would you consider _equal in worth_?”


	22. V  is for Vegetables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V is for vegetables.
> 
> Elves have nothing on the eternal strife between dwarves and green food.

“Thorin, _please_ , I promise it won't kill you.”

“How do you know?”

“I know it won't kill you because I prepared this salad myself!” 

Thorin narrowed his eyes first at the salad, then at Bilbo. He was still recovering from the battle, Thranduil was kind enough to supply both the dwarves and the men with provisions until Dáin's supply caravans could arrive at the mountain. Unfortunately for Thorin, Bilbo was adamant that he eat plenty of vegetables – the dreaded green food – to aid in the recovery process. They were now at an impasse.

“Please will you eat, for _me_?” Bilbo pleaded with his best sad eyes.

Thorin avoided locking their gaze, knowing that one spare glance would spell his doom – Bilbo was very persuasive when he wanted to be. He couldn't quite trust his words either, instead he shook his head no.

“Confounded...Fine, fine fine fine.” Bilbo growled. “A deal then. If you eat your greens then I will give you a reward.” 

The offer was enough to drag Thorin's eyes up to Bilbo's – he knew then that the hobbit had him trapped. “What _sort_ of reward?” 

Bilbo smiled sweetly, placing a hand Thorin's thigh. “I'm sure you'd find it quite agreeable.”

“Just the salad?” Thorin struggled to say, the deviously skilled was hand doing terribly good things to his body.

“For now.” Bilbo smiled as he picked up the fork, spearing a bit of salad on to it.

He would convert these dwarves to vegetables, one way or another, one dwarf at a time – starting with Thorin.


	23. W is for Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> W is for wish.
> 
> Sometimes wishing is all anyone can do.

Night three of their stay in Rivendell Bilbo works up the courage to slip away from his dwarven sentinels. Since signing the contact and embarking on the _quest_ he has learned the hard way how much dwarves really hate elves, Bilbo of course does not share the sentiment. Hobbits are indeed quick on their feet, it took little effort to ditch his dwarven tail so that he may explore the elven city to its full extent and at his own pleasure – 

And it's everything he's ever dreamed of.

The skies are clear and filled to the brim with twinkling lights, the moon accentuates the graceful elven stone masonry – errant moon beams pour over intricately breath taking gardens. The consideration shown by their hosts has been nothing short of exquisite, easily putting hobbit hospitableness to shame. Bilbo can't imagine ever finding a reason to hate such cordial peoples.

His thoughts don't linger on the animosity Thorin and company have toward Elrond and his kin, instead he focuses on the deserted balcony he's wandered on to. The balustrade easily reaches the height of his shoulders, but with a bit of careful climbing the new perch gives him a perfect view of the valley below. The gardens, walkways, and landings that aren't painted in moonlight are darkened with consoling shadows only penetrated by gentle candlelight of wall sconces. If it weren't for his contract, Bilbo wouldn't mind staying in Rivendell in lieu of a dangerous journey, he doubted very much that all his dwarf companions would mind if he stayed behind.

Bilbo didn't like the idea of going back on his word, but he didn't care for the way he was being treated either. His morose gaze slid skyward, looking for comfort in the vast expanse of the starlit blanket above.

“ _Burglar_ ” The unexpected visitor growls, causing the hobbit to yelp in surprise. Bilbo's flailing his arms wildly to regain his balance on the railing, nearly falling for his effort, when thick fingers grab at his trousers to halt his plummet. 

When he's had sufficient time to calm himself, and his 'savior' unhands him, Bilbo sends a pointed look over his shoulder and at his visitor. “Did anyone ever tell you that it's impolite to sneak up on people?”

Thorin doesn't respond, instead he regifts Bilbo's pointed look and leans on the balustrade the hobbit is still sitting on. There is a pregnant silence between them, Bilbo does his best to ignore it, letting his eyes wander back to the stars hoping that if he ignores Thorin long enough the dwarf will tire of his companionship. Time is all but forgotten until Bilbo gasps, pointing to the sky. 

“Look, A falling star! Quickly make a wish.”

“Why would I make a wish because of a falling star?” Thorin says incredulously as he crosses his arms over his chest.

The acerbic tone does nothing to deflate Bilbo's excitement, his smile alone threatens to split his face. “It's said that if you make a wish on a falling star your dreams will come true.”

“And... what did you wish for?” He asks, trying to hide his curiosity.

Bilbo's expression becomes rueful then as he turns to look at Thorin directly. “I wished that our quest be a successful one.”

The sincerity in the hobbit's voice sucker punches Thorin's dwarven sensibilities and he can't help but wish for the same thing.


	24. X is a Dumb Letter...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … Because Thorin sucks at scrabble.

“Thorin, that isn't a word.” Bilbo admonishes, plucking the letters from the scrabble board.

“ _It is a word_. It's in that video game Kíli sinks all his time into.” Thorin argues, replacing the stolen tiles.

“Just because it appears in a video game doesn't make it a real word.”

“It's not okay for me to use _xarxes_ but it's perfectly fine if Óin uses _xyster_?”

“Xyster is a real word, Thorin, it's a name for a surgical tool.” Bilbo says smartly.

“It wouldn't hurt ya to crack open a dictionary from time to time, you crabapple!” Óin remarks smugly and Thorin pelts him with his spare 'x' tile. 

“Next time I get to go with the kids to the movies.” Thorin grumbles, rearranging the letters on his rack to spell arse.

“Yeah well you better get in line, Dís stole my weekend – so I get the next.” Dwalin chimes in while laying down letters to spell oxygen.

Some time between Óin's turn and Bilbo's Thorin manages to snag some more letters from the bag, the move not going unnoticed by Dwalin. Then it's Thorin's turn again, and Dwalin is trying to hold in his laughter; he's just about got all the letters down to spell 'xfiles' when Bilbo notices. 

“Thorin!– ” Bilbo huffs as he picks up the tiles. “Hyphenated words are illegal in scrabble.” 

It's takes every bit of Thorin's remaining sanity to keep from flipping the game board. “I'm going to burn this blasted game – the letter 'x' shouldn't even exist!” 

“You wouldn't even be able to say _exist_ properly.” Óin laughs.

Thorin does flip the board then.


	25. Y is for Yodelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y is for Yodelling.
> 
> Bilbo has zero appreciation for Thorin's new hobby.

He has no problem listening to Thorin-karaoke.

Thorin sings in the car (during short commutes or cross country trips), he sings in the shower and he even sings when he's doing the dishes – Bilbo doesn't know if there is a place or time where he wouldn't sing, but what _he is_ certain of is that his husband's singing voice is the most erotic sound that he's ever taken pleasure in hearing.

However, as of late, Thorin has taken up a new singing hobby and it was entirely Bilbo's fault for not nipping it in the bud before it bloomed. 

It's nine thirty in the morning and there's a garbled sound (more like a death shriek) permeating the walls and doors of their flat and it has Bilbo bolting up out of bed half awake. It was a Saturday for Christ sake!

“I'm gonna kill him.” He groaned – the yodeling was not ok.

Thorin sung in a low octave and always struggled to reach the higher ones, he just wasn't made for them after all, and trying to reach the falsetto as he 'yodelled' was doing unnaturally cruel things to Bilbo's ear drums. He armed himself with a pillow and trudged out of their bedroom to the living room, stalking right up to Thorin; with medium strength he swung the pillow into his husband's face, earning a muffled but satisfying 'oomph' for the trouble.

“No more. I. Mean. It.” Bilbo warned. In hindsight he should have known better than to offer Thorin a thinly veiled threat, he tended to turn everything in a challenge. 

Thorin stepped back out of pillow strike range and took a deep breath, Bilbo ditched his pillow in favor of a more physical deterrent. Before Thorin can unleash the stored breath in his lungs, Bilbo surges forward and firmly plants a hand over Thorin's mouth, using his other arm to hook around his husband's neck for extra support.

“Thorin.” 

“Mmmmphm”

“Find a new hobby,” Bilbo says sternly. “I won't stand for this.”

Thorin raises his brows suggestively, Bilbo assumes, and proceeds to lick the offending hand to poor effect. 

“We've had our tongues down each others throats plenty of times. If you think licking me will grant your freedom, you're sorely mistaken, _dear_.” 

His tactics change and Thorin is pressing himself into Bilbo as opposed to escaping; gently he pries the fingers from his mouth and leans in closer, his breath ghosting over Bilbo's lips. “If I can't have this hobby, then you'll have to help me with another.” 

“I may know of another hobby that would make good use of your mouth.” Bilbo grins as he leads Thorin back to their bedroom.


	26. Z is for Zippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Z is for zippers.
> 
> They are the root of most evils.

When choosing his Halloween costume Bilbo wanted something a bit more frightening this year in comparison to the previous. Thankfully the kids – Fíli, Kíli and Frodo – would all be staying with a family friend of Bilbo's this year, which meant all the adults could attend the more adult oriented Halloween festivities, he didn't have to be so restrained with his costume choice. Bilbo chose to dress up as a zombie, and with the help of Ori and his special effects make-up he definitely looked frightening.

Thorin on the other hand, decided on a werewolf costume. It was more akin to really fuzzy footie pajamas plus a mask, and Bilbo made a point to remind him of the dangers of such a costume; the zipper was going to be a problem should the fur on the suit decide to get stuck in the teeth of the zipper track – 

And that's exactly what happened.

“Fuck, the zipper is stuck!” 

“It wouldn't have gotten stuck if you weren't so keen on _rushing_. This could have waited until we got home!” Bilbo hissed, he was a volatile mix of angry and aroused.

“This is all your fault, you know – you could have kept your comments to yourself.” Thorin growled while he tugged furiously at the zipper stuck on its track half way down his front.

“Think of this as punishment for _last year_ then, that wasn't exactly pleasant you know –”

Thorin interrupted,“– It would have been pleasant if that damnable cousin of your didn't walk in on us in the first place. Your family...”

“Yes yes. I know. I don't need to be reminded.” Bilbo mumbled, batting away Thorin's fingers so he could get at the zipper. “Damn all this fur!”

“We're getting out of here.” Thorin said, slipping a hand around Bilbo's bicep and pulling him out of their hidden nook. “I want out of this suit _now_ and the only way that's happening is if I cut it off.” As they're heading out the door he adds – “Perhaps this year no one will walk in on us while I'm fucking you.”

“ _Thorin!_ ”


End file.
